Chapter Fifteen A New Season

Chapter Fifteen

A New Season

B y the time of the spring thaw, Elizabeth knew a great deal more about what her body could endure—and enjoy—in the process of bringing her husband pleasure. Their adventures were varied and delectable. For half the things, August warned she must never tell anyone, not even Rosalind. But she did tell Rosalind, secretly, so her friend might confirm that she enjoyed the same perverse activities in her marriage bed.

Then she would confess to telling Rosalind, so her husband would punish her for disobeying his instructions. Some of the spankings were quite painful, with thick straps and paddles and extensive corner time. But when they were over, their adventures would continue, and Elizabeth would look forward to the next time.

And the next time.

And the next…

But they could not stay at St. Pierre on their extended honeymoon forever. As Oxfordshire bloomed into spring foliage and flowers, they set off for London to spend the Season at August’s house in town.

Elizabeth was excited to go to London, for she would be close enough to her family and friends in the city to see them every day if she wished. She was also happy to spend her first Season in several years’ time without the pressure of courtship and marriage hanging over her head.

But she was also nervous to begin making appearances as Lady Augustine at various balls and parties, because there would surely be lingering whispers about what had transpired in Wales.

Fortenbury, at least, would not dare show his face, lest her powerful father retaliate. The marquess was the villain in the tale of her disrupted wedding, but she was the pathetic victim. Being a duke’s daughter, some of her jealous former competitors might see her as a deserving target to be brought down.

But she must not be brought down, for that would dishonor her husband, and she didn’t wish August to suffer any loss of reputation on her account after he’d so selflessly rescued her. She must rise above gossip, and above all, she must not be strange and overly perceptive in any way that would encourage more “sorceress” tales.

It was a lot of pressure for her return to London, but she was determined to persevere and be a proper, admirable wife.

Her mother and father at first contrived to throw the opening ball of the Season, to give her and August a proper coming out, but then the Duke and Duchess of Lockridge, Rosalind’s parents, pointed out that might put too much focus on the new couple. They mounted the opening ball instead, one where she and August might feel among friends without enduring undue scrutiny.

That suited Elizabeth well, and she arrived at the Lockridges’ striking London townhome on August’s arm without suffering too many nerves. Her husband was in formal black, knee breeches and everything. Goodness, he was handsome when he dressed for the ton . She wore a stylish gown of vibrant pink, embellished with embroidered dianthus and roses. How happy she was to leave behind the plain, modest frocks of her unmarried Seasons.

“Elizabeth!” Rosalind greeted her as she always did, with sisterly enthusiasm. “Look at your dress, darling. I adore the floral embroidery.”

“Yours is dreamy too,” she said, hugging her close. Her friend wore flowing kelly green silk, which suited her coloring to a tee.

“It’s already such a crush in the ballroom,” Rosalind said. “But there’s still room for dancing. You’ve arrived at the perfect time.”

“Don’t we look like a couple of penguins?” Marlow joked with August as they compared their black formalwear. He nodded toward the sound of merriment and music. “Towns and Wescott are already dancing with their wives.”

“Then they’ll make off for the card room, just as you two will,” said Rosalind, tossing her wavy chestnut hair.

“We must give other gentlemen the chance to dance with the diamonds of the ball,” said August. “Although I shall do so only jealously.”

Elizabeth smiled at his earnest flirtation, offering her hand. “The women shall be jealous as well. I’m sure dozens of them wished to win the Earl of Augustine’s hand, only to find him wed to me over the winter.”

“I don’t know about dozens,” said Marlow, making a face. “One or two, perhaps.”

Rosalind stepped between the men’s mocking scuffle to lead all of them forward. “Come along. Let’s join the dancing. Oh, Lisbet, you won’t believe the decorations this year. Mama’s gone all out!”

Elizabeth, who’d attended far too many balls in her singlehood, was indeed surprised by the magnificent floral swags and rich velvet decor blanketing the walls. There were thousands of candles to set off the decorations—and the ladies’ gowns. Some were in the sparkling chandeliers above, some on high tables arranged about the room’s perimeter. A full orchestra played a waltz as multitudes of colorful couples danced in twirling bliss.

Jane and Townsend swept by with a wave, followed by Ophelia and Wescott. Elizabeth and August skirted the edge of the dance floor, parting ways with Rosalind and Marlow so they could greet his parents who stood nearby. Her parents appeared too, embracing her and welcoming them both to a new Season.

“Does it feel different now that you’re off the marriage mart?” her mother asked her, straightening a bit of hair that had escaped Elizabeth’s fancy coiffure.

“It does. It feels better, I think. I mean, yes, it definitely feels better. I’m only nervous…”

“Do not be nervous,” her mama said, leaning close. “Or if you are, don’t let them see. Don’t they make a lovely couple?” she said in a louder voice to her papa.

“Like they were made for each other,” he replied, patting August on the back.

Her parents—and August’s too—had visited St. Pierre three or four times after the customary honeymoon period had passed, and when they saw how content she was with August, he’d risen even higher in their already great esteem.

If they knew how August had forged such a quick, strong bond between them…

Well, his expert sexual prowess did not make a proper topic of conversation, nor their frequent adventures in the disciplinary sphere. And over the ensuing weeks, their marriage had deepened beyond physical excitement to a more encompassing connection that strengthened with each passing day. It was not an act of subterfuge to regard her husband with affection as the ton ’s busiest gossips studied them. It was how she really felt.

“You ought to take your wife for a dance,” said August’s father. “Now, before there’s no room left to move.”

“I’ve been working up the courage to ask her to add me to her dance card.”

Elizabeth laughed, taking his arm. “And I’ve been working up the courage to dance the waltz as all the married couples do. Mama said I would seem fast if I waltzed too much before I was wed.”

“The one time you tried it, in the parlor at home…” Her mama chuckled.

“Papa and I upended a table with Great-Grandmama’s vintage crystal punch bowl,” Elizabeth explained to August and his parents.

“Full of sugary cherry-brandy punch,” her papa added. “Of course, I take full blame.”

“It was not at all his fault.” Elizabeth sighed. “I ought to have taken some dancing lessons, but after that, I was traumatized.”

“You and your lessons,” said August with a wink. “No matter, my dear. I’ll have you waltzing before the night’s out.” He glanced across the room. “The punch bowl seems safe, as the Lockridges have wisely stowed it in the corner.”

“That’s fortunate.” She waved to their parents as August guided her away. “Wish me luck!”

The couples swirling around them made it look easy, but she knew it wouldn’t be, especially with half the ton looking on.

“Perhaps we should wait until later in the evening?” she suggested, biting her lip.

“Trust me,” he whispered back.

He led her to the floor just as a new waltz began, so she had a moment to collect herself before the lilting sweep and sway of the romantic dance ensued. She had been nervous, but realized at once that August was an excellent partner. He held her close and guided her so skillfully she could hardly make a mistake.

Like our private times together…

She should not think about that now. He was just so handsome, so tall, dark, and elegant as he partnered her. She noticed ladies glancing at him, while others stared with bold, admiring looks. The ladies’ glances at her were not as flattering. Some expressed silent jealousy. Some were mocking, so she fixed her gaze upon August’s kind eyes and tried to forget the other dancers existed.

It was easy, when he looked at her that way. The caring smile, the deep gaze, the way his hand caressed her back as he led her, preventing any misstep…

He was doing this on purpose. He was showing the world, showing all of London’s elite that however their marriage began, he was enamored of her. It made her love him even more, love him so much a small pain opened up inside her, for with such love came vulnerability and the terrifying possibility of loss. She could barely stand to think about losing his love for any reason.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.” She composed her features back to joy and lightness. She must remember that people were looking. They would always be looking until the gossip about their marriage petered out. “You’re such a skilled dancer,” she said, gripping his shoulder. “Excellent, really. The punch bowl is safe.”

“We’re all happier for it.” Laughter lit his already handsome features. “The guests must have their drink.”

Ah, his smile. She’d always thought August somewhat shy, but she knew differently now. As her husband, her lover, he came alive.

That means he loves you.

“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

“What?”

She realized she’d spoken aloud and felt a flush across her cheeks.

“I… I know that I shall have to dance with some other gentlemen tonight, to be polite, but I would be content to dance three hours only with you.”

“We’d be exhausted by the end,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Too exhausted to do other activities once we return home. We’re making our appearance here, as we must, but I beg you, darling, do not wear yourself out.”

*

Around midnight, August lay deliciously depleted, having dragged his wife from the ball to his bed at the earliest acceptable moment. Perhaps it was not well done, as the Lockridges had intended the fête to ease him and Elizabeth past the new Season’s gossip. But leaving early, after dancing almost exclusively with one another, said something to the busybodies who wished to cast aspersions on their match.

To hell with them all.

Elizabeth roused from her light slumber as he thought it. “August…darling…”

“I’m here, Lisbet.”

Her green eyes fluttered open. “Shall I go to my own room?”

“No.” He pulled her closer. “Sleep here with me.”

He didn’t know why they kept separate bedrooms when they spent each night in one another’s arms. Perhaps so she had a place for all the gowns he planned to buy her now that they were in London, as well as the flowers, to be delivered twice a week.

You will understand that I love you , he thought, looking down at her sated, sleepy face. Every day, I’ll make you see it, until you truly believe.

Felicity was to arrive with her family in three weeks’ time. He only knew this because Townsend had told him tonight at the ball. A year ago, two years especially, he would have known to the minute when she’d arrive at London’s port, and been unsettled, anxious, needful, even depressed to see her disembark with her royal husband and plentiful children.

Now he understood that Felicity had always been meant for Prince Carlo and a royal life, and he had somehow, through fate and circumstance, been meant for the maddening, mysterious faerie-woman in his arms.

“August,” she whispered, running her fingers down his face.

“Yes?”

“I’m just saying your name. August.” She looked up at him. “But it’s Julian. That’s your given name. Why’ve we never called you Julian?”

He laughed at her drowsy question. “I suppose because I acquired my title before I was born. But you may call me Julian if you wish.”

“I probably won’t, because you’ve always been August to me.” She sighed in post-coital contentment. “My season of love. August.”

“It’s spring right now, darling.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “And August is not a season.”

“Oh, that’s right. Autumn is the season. Your talents have got my brain so muddled, I got it confused.”

“Doesn’t autumn begin in September? You know, officially?”

She placed a finger upon his lips. “Shh. Be nice.”

“I’m always nice to you.”

She managed a tired snort. “Always nice? You spanked me in the carriage on the way home from the ball for, what was it? My trumped-up offense?”

“Being too beautiful before the other men of the ton ?” He countered her sleepy outrage with a stern frown. “It was not trumped up. You are excessively beautiful. How dare you?”

She dissolved into laughter. He loved that she still blushed, despite the daily perversities he subjected her to.

“And it was not a very hard spanking,” he added. “That was nice of me.”

“I’m not sure that’s the proper definition—”

She resisted his kisses a moment, then gave herself up to them, letting him pillage her sweet mouth before she finally pushed him away, coming up for air.

“While you are being nice,” she said, breathless, “I have something to ask you.”

“Certainly. What is it?”

“May we throw a garden party soon? Your garden in town is a wondrous size, with such lovely flowers. Now that we’re married, we ought to have people to the house.”

She was his own flower, soft petals glowing in the candlelight. “If you wish for a garden party, Lisbet, you shall have one. When?”

“Perhaps the weekend after Felicity and Carlo arrive, to welcome them.”

She studied him with a glimmer of anxiety, gauging his reaction to the “F word.” He’d forbidden her to speak of Felicity in the early days of their marriage, but things had progressed quite a bit since then.

“That sounds like a fine idea,” he said, putting her at ease. “We can invite all the families, as well as our neighbors and friends.”

“Yes, and have tents and tables full of refreshments. I hope Felicity and her husband agree to attend as our guests of honor.”

“I’m sure they will.”

Was this a gesture of truce, this garden party? A way for Elizabeth to prove she was done worrying about his past infatuation with Felicity?

“The servants will help with anything you need to plan it. I’ll help, too.” He stroked her hair, kissed her again. “The weather is perfect this time of year for garden parties. The children will be thrilled to roam about outdoors. We used to love these sorts of parties growing up.”

“I remember. Now our friends have their own children. Perhaps we will too, soon.” She laughed softly. “After our close and constant efforts.”

“Do I badger you too much?” He could not stop embracing her. “You must tell me if I ask too much.”

“You ask the perfect amount.” She snuggled closer beside him, letting out a contented sound that resonated in his cock and balls. No. Not again, not tonight.

“I think you’re tired, dearest. You should sleep.”

He had made her tired, subjecting her to his unending hungers. He spanked her for any and all reasons, which, at least, seemed to titillate her as much as him. He teased her, manhandled her, fucked her relentlessly, and she liked that too. The more she gave him, the more he wanted. He wondered where it would end. In autumn, perhaps. She’d be with his child by then, a little boy to be the next Lord Augustine, or a little girl to grow into a faerie like her mother.

But he must not call Elizabeth that. He might think of her as a magical creature—and fear her powers at times—but he knew she didn’t like to be considered strange or different. At the ball, she’d been approached by some former contemporaries of the Lady Caroline Lamb. In her day, Lady Caroline had held wild salons and supposedly communed with spirits, egged on by her lover Lord Byron. If her adherents wished a new “medium” to follow, it would not be his wife.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, pressing her lips to his cheek. “I can feel you grow tense.”

“You’re too observant for your own good.” He brushed back her tousled hair. “I only wish you to have an enjoyable Season. The garden party is sure to be a success, but…you must take care whom you invite. You must also consider whose calls to accept, whose salons you visit. It’s different being married.”

“You mean…gentlemen?”

He laughed. “No, you’re not to visit any gentlemen, and they certainly won’t come calling now you’ve been spoken for. I mean ladies who will not make good friends or have your best interests at heart.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry. I’ll know them right away. There were some at the ball…”

“Yes. Take care.”

“You will care for me,” she murmured. “My knight…”

She was barely awake now, growing soft and limp in his embrace.

“Yes, I will care for you. Sleep, sweet one.”

He held her, touched by the way she called him “ my knight” in her drowsing, contented state. There was a time he couldn’t have seen himself as such, but becoming her husband had made him a different person, a more honorable person. He would care for her to the ends of the earth.

Now that they were in London, he’d take the head off anyone in society who threatened her. It wasn’t a question, just something he had to do. He watched her eyelids flutter as she slept, then dreamed. An hour later, he was still watching her, trying to figure out how such intensity of feeling had developed between a friendship and a marriage he’d embarked upon only to be heroic and kind.